I Wake Up Exhausted
by fangirlgonewild
Summary: Spoilers through 1.21 "Isobel." Elena spends a night contemplating the changes in her life. Rating for language and dark themes.


It's dark, she's alone, and she's running.

Elena ducks, narrowly avoiding decapitation by tree branch, but she cannot stop to think, she's got to keep moving. She can hear the crunch of her sneakers against the mud and gravel, the rasp of her breath, and the pounding rush of her heartbeat.

She's betting her pursuer can hear all that and more.

The ground is uneven; it's hard to know where she's going in the dark. She's not one of them, not at home in the faded light. Elena stops for just a moment, leaning against a tree to calm herself and gather her bearings. She only needs a moment.

Suddenly, there's a hand on her arm, wrenching her around, forcing her to look into the eyes of a face so like hers, yet not her own. Dark eyes meet hers, and Katherine's blood-red lips twist into a ghost of a smile as she shifts her gaze to Elena's neck.

Elena sits up, her hand over he own mouth to muffle her cry. It's been three days since Isobel—her _mother_, the traitorous part of her mind adds—sat across from her and half-whispered, _I was curious_. And in the three nights since then, Elena has dreamed of her fanged doppelganger a dozen times over. Katherine chasing her, smiling at her, leaning in for the kill.

Elena flips on her light and sits down at her desk, knowing sleep has abandoned her for the rest of the wee hours. She opens her journal, picking up a pen and placing it against the page. Nothing happens. Her fingers don't twirl and loop until her mind has expelled all thought. She _liked_ journaling. It could be childish and narcissistic at times, but she always worked through her problems better once they were down on paper. They were less her own then, no longer caught up in her head.

Not now. The tangled web of her life carries so much more weight. It would have been mortifying if Jeremy had read half the things she'd written about Matt over the years, the girlish fantasies and idle dreams. But what he read was dangerous, to him and to her. It wasn't crushes and insecurities, it was blood and death. All the things that had taken her weeks to fully understand, and he'd absorbed it all in a single sitting.

She lifts her eyes from the page to meet her own gaze in the mirror. Transfixed, she lifts a hand to her cheek, cool fingers meeting flushed skin. She seems older, somehow, worn down by the harsh truth of the world. Sometimes, when Bonnie looks at her, it's like she's not seeing the same person anymore. Elena can see it in her eyes, in quick flash of pain she pushes down before she opens her mouth. Her association with Stefan—and Damon—has outwardly changed her more than she ever could have imagined.

Stefan loves her, and she does not question his affection. But he would not be there to love her if not for another young woman, beautiful and mysterious. A woman whose picture he kept for all these years, watching it yellow with age and wear at the corners.

There are times when Stefan looks at her, when he sits back in surprise or presses his lips to hers, when Elena wonders if it's her he sees, her he feels. After Georgia, she'd swiped the picture of Katharine, made a photocopy and returned it unnoticed (she hoped). Elena doesn't even need to take it out of her side drawer to compare; she's stared at it for so long on so many nights.

Damon made no secret of his comparison, at first. He never tiptoed around her uncertainty and hesitation, but then, he also made it clear that Katharine was, and always would be, the winner in his book. He's quieter now, and Elena catches him watching her. She wonders what he sees, now. She's yet to find the courage to ask him, especially when she's not sure if she wants to know.

Because it's not even the striking visual similarity that disturbs _her_ the most. That's shocking, and bothersome, and downright creepy, true. But when she looked at the image of the stunning vampire a second time, she noted the cruelty in her haughty posture, the slight sneer in her pouty smile. _Complicated_, Damon had said, _selfish, and at times, not very kind_.

Elena was none of those things, then. But lately she'd noticed a lessening dissimilarity between the girl in the mirror before her and the photo of the elusive Katharine. With every lie that drops from her lips and every divisive choice she makes, her eyes darken a shade. She tosses her hair over her shoulder and tells herself that _this is for everyone's benefit_, but the road to Hell is paved with good intentions, and she's not even sure if hers are always completely good anymore.

Because she wants to keep this life, this dual world of secrets. In the deepest recesses of her mind, she can admit that the Salvatore brothers at least keep things interesting. And she'll never commit to paper that they make her more alive than she's ever been. Caroline frets that Elena will snap her fingers and Matt will come running, but the truth is that she'd never be able to settle for someone so…typical again.

Elena bites her lip until it turns white. Who is this girl that can think such awful things? That gives credence to such sinister musings? Does she really _like_ the fact that her innocence is gone, and not coming back?

_It's not me, I'm not like that_, she wants to say. But no words come out, and she's left with no option but to turn to her own poisoned reflection.

Elena runs her fingers down to cup her neck, closing her eyes and searching for her pulse point. She presses down until she can feel the blood sliding under her skin, staying that way until the sun rises.


End file.
